Did you mean it?
by changinlndscape
Summary: Season 4 A/U where Beckett does not remember her shooting. 2 shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Did you mean it?**

A/N: This is a season 4 AU where Beckett really doesn't remember her shooting. No specific references, but it fits mid season. My first fanfic, so be gentle. Part one of two.

Beckett jerked out of bed with a start, already struggling to untangle her legs from the sweaty sheets before she was fully awake. Her skin was cold and clammy and her hands shook with the rush of adrenaline as they weakly pulled at the sheets. Trembling and stumbling, she only just managed to make it to the bathroom before she vomited.

After emptying her stomach, and dry heaving after that, she slid down to the bathroom floor, closed her eyes and wearily pressed her cheek to the cool tile. Groaning, she wrapped her arms around her belly and pulled her knees up as far as she could. She laid there shaking and twitching until the nausea passed; maybe five minutes, maybe forty-five. Time contracted and stilled around her until she could feel it pressing down on her skin, until she had to open her eyes to see if she could _see _it there upon her.

She couldn't, of course. Only the blue light of the city night creeping in through the open bathroom door until it blended into the darkness. Only reality was encasing her where she lay fetal, so with a sigh she let her eyes slide shut again. But in doing so she could see the haloed images of her nightmare glowing against her eyelids, so she opened them again. She stared into the darkness and counted the seconds between her ragged breaths.

It felt so real. Even now when she was fully awake, growing cold on the floor of the bathroom. It felt real even when she could hear the omnipresent city traffic and smell the faint traces of orange scented cleaner she'd used earlier that day mixing with the smell of the Chinese food she'd had for supper. Chinese food she probably wouldn't be having again for some time. Ugh.

Nightmares were supposed to recede upon waking, that's how you live with them. When you could see and feel the tack and tang of the real world around you the imperfections and anachronisms and convenient vagueness of dreams remind you that they aren't real. Beckett couldn't remember one sticking so violently with her before.

Once she was sure that her stomach had settled, Beckett sat up and rested her forehead against the wall, reaching blindly overhead for the light switch, and briefly closed her eyes against the brightness. When she opened them again, she stood and looked questioningly at her reflection in the mirror, and pressed both of her hands to the center of her chest, feeling the slight ridge of her scar.

It didn't feel like a dream. The heat of the day, the faces of the people shifting uncomfortably in their folding chairs, the sound of a shot and then the incomprehensible burn in her sternum. The sound of her own breath being punched out of her body, similar to the sound a pillow makes when it's punched. More confusion as she was knocked to the side and then the dizzying blue sky filling her entire field of vision. At least until it was Castle filling her field of vision, kneeling over her as the edges began to go black.

It didn't feel like a dream, but she couldn't be sure. There were gaps, still, and a reeling sense of bewilderment that she couldn't make be still long enough to be sure. She had to be sure, because if it was real...

Well, one step at a time. In a cascade of realization, she knew what this step had to be. She threw her hair up in a messy ponytail and splashed some cold water on her face, scrubbing harder than necessary in a futile attempt to bring some clarity to her situation. She threw on some jeans over her pajama shorts and slipped into her running shoes as she called for a cab. It didn't seem wise to drive while she was still shaking.

In the cab she sat forward, her body tight, elbows on her knees, face in her hands. Her mind was dragged back and forth between the metronomic glow of passing street lamps in the dark cab and the dream (_vision, _or _memory?_) of Castle hovering over her. The fear in his face and the feel of his hands at her shoulders and cradling her head.

She arrived at his building too soon and not soon enough. Beckett was still on edge, twitching and fidgeting while she waited for the elevator and drawing a curious look from the night watchman. When the doors opened at his floor, she stood frozen, unable to exit. Absently, she held a hand out to prevent the door from closing, and stilled completely except for the jump of the pulse at her throat.

She swallowed, and imagined that someone standing at the end of the hall could have heard it. Slowly, she stepped into the hall, and let the silver doors close behind her. What was she going to say? Maybe, if she was casual, she could bring it up gently. See if her memory had come back without actually asking him about it. Maybe ask for a beer to calm her nerves. The man was always trying to get her to have a drink with him.

By the time she made it to his door she had almost convinced herself that this would work. That everything would be fine. Until she knocked too loudly, her shaking hand rattling off more than a dozen raps before she could pull the offending thing back. Suddenly her pulse was filling her throat and her mouth felt dry. She yanked her pony tail down because it felt like it was tugging too sharply at her scalp.

Utterly distressed, she raked her hands through her hair and gaped at the still closed door. Maybe he hadn't heard her knock. Maybe she could just creep back down the hallway and ask Lanie if her version of that horrible day fit with reality. Jesus, why hadn't she thought of that before? Beckett backed away from the door and spun toward the elevator and her potential escape. She was jogging when she heard his sleep-laden voice calling after her.

"Beckett? Is everything ok? What's going on?"

Oh God. Oh no. This was a disaster. Katherine Beckett does not just show up at Richard Castle's door in the middle of the night and smoothly bring up the most traumatic thing that had happened to the both of them.

Beckett turned slowly back to Castle, taking in his plaid pajama bottoms and the fitted black v-neck he was wearing. His hair was standing up at adorable angles, and his eyes were heavy with sleep that he was rubbing away as he took a step or two toward her.

"Beckett? Are you hurt?"

She breathed in a noisily through her nose, the metallic taste of panic on her tongue, and her hastily crafted plan went out the window. "Castle," she said in a rush, "Did you tell me that you loved me?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you thank you thank you to all of the responses to this. It's unexpected! I haven't had a chance to respond to reviews yet, but in the mean time thank you very much to anyone who took the time. :) Also, both of these were beta'd by me, so any errors are my own. And I forgot to say that I don't own Castle, but seriously. Obviously.

**Did You Mean It, Part 2:**

"Castle," she said in a rush, "did you tell me that you loved me?"

Beckett pressed the fingertips of both hands to her slightly agape mouth and stared at Castle with wide eyes. Unmoving, not breathing, she could feel the rapid thump of her blood in her neck and lips and cheeks. She wondered if he could see the pulse from his position down the hall.

Castle straightened, the hands that had been scrubbing at his face fell to hang heavily at his side. "Beckett," he began. His voice was low and soft and matched the now sweetly attentive look in his eyes. He took another step toward her. "What? Did I say that-"

With a loud gasp, Beckett began breathing again. She inhaled deeply as if she was trying to suck back the words that she'd spoken. "No, don't," she wheezed. "Don't, I didn't... I wasn't thinking. I don't know what..." she trailed off again, shrugging helplessly.

"Kate," Castle murmured, closing the gap even more.

"Stop," she whispered, holding up both hands in supplication. Dragging her eyes away from his she stared at the floor and backed up a step. She noticed that his feet were bare, and was reminded of the hour. "I woke you," she said banally.

"I don't mind." He didn't come any closer, but Becket could see his fingers twitching as he restrained himself, his weight on the balls of his feet as he leaned unconsciously toward her. "Kate, why don't you come inside?"

She shook her head sharply, dragged her hands through her hair once more before clasping them tightly in front of her chest. Then she began pacing, her shoulder and elbow brushing the wall as she gave him a wide birth, eyes glancing sidelong at his chest or his forehead or the wall behind him. Anywhere to avoid meeting his earnest gaze.

"I'm sorry, Castle. I'm sorry. I was dreaming and it felt real and I just reacted. I reacted too quickly and now I'm here and you're awake and I'm sorry because it's the middle of the night," she babbled. She knew she was babbling but couldn't seem to stop the words from falling out of her mouth any more than she could stop her feet from striding up and down the hall. Her anxiety had momentum on its side now. Her knuckles were white where her hands were clasped so tightly together, and a light sheen of sweat had appeared on her upper lip.

"And I don't even know if it's real, Castle. But the grass was this bright, very specific green and it was so hot out that I could feel the sweat trickling down my back and then there was this punch to my chest. And you were there, it was just you talking to me, you know? You and your incredible voice. I just don't know, because I can't really remember, it's so elusive even though it's so clear and I just don't _know_. Castle, I don't think I'll ever _really know_."

She didn't realize he had a hold of her arm until she was forced to stop pacing. Surprised, she finally, hesitantly looked up to meet his searching eyes.

"You remember your shooting?"

"I'm not..." but she caught herself. She didn't think Castle would be looking at her quite the way he was now if she was wrong. "Maybe. I think so. Parts of it." She shrugged again and bit her lip nervously. But she could feel the warmth from his hand where he'd left it to slide up to her shoulder to give her a little squeeze, and it was fortifying. Maybe this hadn't been such a horrible idea after all. She gathered herself to ask one more time.

Then in the smallest voice she could remember using, she asked, "Did you?"

"Yes, Kate." Castle's voice was still low but clear and firm. He sounded so sure of himself that Beckett could feel some of her anxiety leeching out of her. "Yes, I told you I love you."

The tension that had been carrying her since she had arrived at his building left her so suddenly that Beckett couldn't help but sag into him, her forehead pressed against the soft fabric at his clavicle. His free arm wrapped tightly around her waist and his hand at her shoulder shifted to brush some of her unruly hair away from her face before settling in near the nape of her neck.

"I'm sorry, Castle," she murmured, the words nearly getting lost from her face being snug to his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

"You told me that you _loved _me and I didn't even remember that it happened."

"Kate-"

"No, it's okay. I know it's not my fault, Castle, I just- Oh," she said abruptly, moving back to create some space between them. "Oh, Castle, I'm being really selfish here, aren't I?"

Castle shook his head with a small confused smile. "What are you talking about?"

Not for the first time that night, Beckett felt a surge of panic and uncertainty. She wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked back on her heels to look up at him. "It was a terrible day," she said quietly.

"Today, or-"

"The funeral, and the shooting," Beckett clarified, dropping her eyes to the floor again.

Castle raised an eyebrow wryly. "Understatement."

Beckett sighed and hugged herself a little tighter. For the past fifteen minutes she'd allowed herself to hope for something she hadn't even been completely aware that she'd wanted. But doubt is a stubborn habit, and she felt it twitching in her now.

"Castle," she whispered, her mouth dry. She cleared her throat before starting again. "I just mean that you were going through a trauma, too. I would understand if you, um, if you said something that you didn't think about. You shouldn't be held to something you said in the heat of the moment." She ducked her head before continuing. "I'd understand."

Castle closed the space between them again as understanding dawned on his face. "You're right, I wasn't thinking."

Beckett face crumbled immediately, and she buried her face in her hands. The tight knot in her chest prevented a sob from escaping, but she couldn't stop the tears. When she felt the insistent pull of Castle's hands at her own she resisted briefly, but ultimately didn't have the energy to fight anymore. Even if it was just for this moment, she couldn't deny herself the warmth of his hands brushing her tears away.

"Don't cry, Kate. Ask me your question. I think you'll like the answer."

Voice shaking, gesturing softly with one hand, she managed to voice her doubt in its most basic form. "Castle, did you mean it?"

"Of course I did," he smiled at her, eyes shining. When she returned the smile, he tugged her close and tucked her back into his chest. "Yes, I was scared. And if you hadn't been shot, I probably wasn't going to tell you how I felt that day. The timing was all wrong and we weren't even dating. But you and I, Kate, we've never done anything in the usual way. I said I loved you because I _do _love you, and the only thing I was feeling that day other than fear was that I needed you to know. Even if it was the wrong thing to say."

He tilted her face up to his and kissed her forehead, then her cheek. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. His lips had just barely brushed hers when she turned her head away sharply.

"Kate?"

"You can't kiss me right now." Her cheeks were on fire, and she grimaced at her own awkwardness.

"You don't kiss on the first date?" Castle said, face showing amusement and confusion both.

"Not this one," Beckett muttered, running her tongue over her teeth. Then she looked quickly up at him. "This is not a date."

"Is that why I'm not allowed to kiss you?"

"No," she said, flustered. She cast about for a reasonable excuse, and finding none, she told him the truth. "I threw up today and I haven't brushed my teeth since."

Castle barked out a laugh of surprise, which quickly became a full belly laugh at her sheepish expression. He rocked back on his heels in mirth and then leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead again, and one on each cheek, chuckling all the while.

"I don't have to kiss you tonight. I can just use my incredible voice instead."

"Oh, of course you heard that," Beckett muttered, hiding her embarrassed smile in his shirt.

"I hear all of the things you say, Beckett. And I remember them, too." He was laughing at her even as he pressed his lips to her forehead, settling there for a more intimate moment. Castle wrapped his arms more tightly around her and rocked her gently. "Will you come inside now?"

Becket, still smiling gently, glanced down the hall first left, then right. "I guess we can't stay out here all night. And we have some things to talk about."

"Finally!" Castle released his hold on her and smiled brightly. He took her hand and tugged her after him as he walked backward across the threshold. "I'm pretty sure I have a spare toothbrush you can borrow."

"How domestic," she replied. "And without even a first kiss."

But like Castle had said earlier, they rarely do things in the usual order. And Becket was pretty sure that that was going to work out for them in the long run.


End file.
